


Family Ties

by sunlightdances (glowinghorizons)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Protective Dean Winchester, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-09-01 10:33:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16763404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glowinghorizons/pseuds/sunlightdances
Summary: You didn’t know your stepmom was a witch, okay. It’s not your fault you’ve got a coven on your tail. It’s also not your fault that Dean hates witches so much.





	Family Ties

You come around the corner of the street too fast, skidding on your heels as you glance over your shoulder, hoping no one is tailing you. You left your car behind, not willing to risk it in case there was a hex bag inside.

“Goddammit.” You mutter, breathless, as you bend over, hands on your knees as you struggle to catch your breath.

A routine visit home turned into a nightmare when you walked in on what everyone else thought was a book club, but what you now know is your stepmom’s involvement in a coven.

Your stepmom is really the only mom you’ve ever known, and you know that she’s got good intentions. She would never hurt you, but you wonder how long she’s known that you’re a hunter. Now that the other witches in her coven know about you, you’re pretty sure they’re going to drive you out of town or kill you trying, whichever comes first.

You pull out your cell with shaky hands, wondering who the hell you’re going to call to help you out of this one. You just need help – need an extra set of eyes to check over your hotel room and your car before you high tail it out of the city. You’ve got nothing right now – your gun and your supplies are in your room and your car.

 _“This is Dean’s other, other cell.”_ You stop listening, annoyed that he doesn’t pick up, and leave him a quick message.

“Dean, it’s me. I don’t have Sam’s number but I’ll try Bobby. Listen, I need some help. I’m in Wichita and am kind of over my head. If you’re around can you do me a solid? If not, send whoever’s close.”

Now, all you can do is wait, and watch your back.

.

.

.

You walk quickly down the street the next day, keeping an eye out for anyone or anything that looks out of place. Not really looking where you’re going, you stumble into someone _hard_. “Ow.”

“Are you okay? I wasn’t– kid?”

You recognize the voice before you see his face and look up, relief flooding your body when you see Dean Winchester, in all his fed suit-wearing glory. “Dean. Thank god.”

Dean looks confused but also delighted to see you. “Hey. Got your message. I’ve been looking for you all day. What the fuck happened to you?” He asks, his left hand steadying you by the elbow, and his other hand going to your head, where you know you’re bleeding a little bit after your run in with the coven.

“My stepmom lives here.”

“What, did she clock you? Jesus.” Dean says, bending his knees slightly to look you in the eyes. You’re quite a bit shorter than Dean and you avoid his eyes.

“No! She didn’t hit me, Dean. She– joined the wrong kind of book club, I guess.” You say, swatting his hands away from your hairline.

Dean looks confused for a second before his eyes light with recognition and he groans in annoyance. “Cmon… you’re kidding. Witches?”

“I’m afraid so.” You confirm for him. “They did not take kindly to me showing up in the middle of their seance. Especially when they found out what I do for a living.”

Dean sighs, but starts to walk with you down the street, you assume to wherever he and Sam are saying. “What, did you announce it?”

“I may or may not have walked into the house and started talking before I realized what they were doing.”

“That mouth of yours is going to get you in trouble one day.” He says, smirking.

“Shut up, asshole.” You retort, jabbing him in the ribs. “Where’s Sam?”

Dean points towards a motel down the road. “We’re staying here. He’s doing some research. You wanna stay for a bit?”

You shrug. “Got nowhere else to go. I don’t want to go back to my room. Hex bags.”

Dean pulls on your elbow, dragging you to a stop on the sidewalk. “Woah, woah. You didn’t say anything about hex bags.”

“Why do you think I’m walking around town instead of leaving dust trails behind me?”

Dean pinches the bridge of his nose. “They got your car too?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I called you guys, actually.”

Dean looks around, his hand moving to the small of your back. You smile inwardly at the protectiveness in him showing itself.

“We’ll get you squared away. Come on, come with me.” He says, leading you back to the room.

You follow him inside and say your hellos to Sam, who, like Dean, is happy to see you, but worried. “An entire coven, huh?”

“I fuckin’ hate witches.” Dean mutters, looking out the peephole of the hotel with his gun in hand, fidgeting with it, and you groan.

“I’m _sorry_! It’s not my fault. She’s my stepmom! I never thought she–” you stop, starting to feel guilty. “Oh god. I’m a terrible hunter. I never even _guessed_ what she was doing.”

“It isn’t your fault.” Sam assures you, glaring at Dean. “First thing’s first, we need to check your room and car for hex bags. Then, we need to talk to your stepmom.”

You frown. “She won’t talk to me. She’s too scared the coven will hurt her, or me.”

“We’ll do it, then.” Dean says, confidently.

.

.

.

“Okay, that didn’t go as planned.” Dean says as the three of you trudge back to the hotel, covered in dirt and a little banged up.

“Witches are so gross.” You whine, “Why did she have to get involved with witches?” You flop down on the bed, content for now that the hex bags were destroyed, and the coven, for now.

“Well, at least your stepmom is okay. And moving out of town as fast as possible.” Sam says, hand absently landing on your knee as he brushes by you to get to the bathroom. “I call first shower.”

You groan again, and then notice Dean glaring at you. “You’re getting witch dust all over my bed.” He says, and you snort.

“Witch dust?”

He rolls his eyes. “Technical term. Move over.” He sits on the edge next to you as he takes off his boots.

“You want me to move?” You ask, and he looks over at you, his eyes lingering on the strip of exposed skin where your shirt has ridden up above your jeans. You suppress a grin.

“Nah. I’ll just have to suffer all night knowing there’s some witchy garbage all over my bed.”

“God. You’re a baby.” You shift a little bit closer to him as he reclines on the bed, his arms behind his head as you wait for Sam to get out of the shower. “Hey Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Today was kinda fun. Haven’t hunted together in awhile.” You say, and when you look over, he’s already looking at you, a small smile on his face.

“Yeah. Guess it kinda was.” He rubs his jaw. “Couldn’t have been anything other than witches though?”

“Wow, you’re never going to let me forget this, are you?”

“Nope.” He says, grinning. “You okay? Didn’t really check on you before.“ His hand lifts off the bed like he wants to touch your face, and you freeze, your heart pounding. “Does that hurt?” He asks, softly, his hand barely grazing your forehead.

You can’t help it, you lean into his touch the tiniest bit, but he notices. You can tell by the way his fingers curl, just the slightest bit, to cradle your face. “It doesn’t hurt.” You finally reply, a whisper. When you open your eyes, his own eyes are dark and dilated as he looks at you.

The sound of the water shutting off abruptly shatters the moment, and Dean practically springs away from you. You swallow hard, trying not to read into it.

“I, uh–” you stammer, “I’m going to get some air.” You say, and are out the door before you hear Dean calling your name.

.

.

.

It’s been a half hour, you think, as you sit on the curb in the parking lot, before Dean comes out after you.

“Can I sit?” He asks, and sits down before you say anything. “Sorry if I freaked you out in there.”

You can’t even say anything. You’re too surprised that he’s the one bringing it up instead of pretending nothing ever happened.

“I– shit, kid. I care about you. You know that, don’t you? I was worried half to death when you called us. Kept picturing the worse possible scenario, and kept thinking that if something happened to you and I hadn’t told you how I felt, I’d hate myself.”

Your mouth drops open at his confession. “What?”

He turns slightly so he’s facing you, his knee bumping yours. “You’re on my mind pretty much all the time, kid. You’ve got to know that by now.” He smiles, that slow, soft smile you’re beginning to love. “And I gotta say… seeing you on my bed dirtied up from a fight we won? Pretty hot.”

You blush and he laughs, and you hate feeling like you don’t have the upper hand, so you practically launch yourself at him, arms going around his neck as your lips find his, one of his hands automatically finding its way into your hair.

He lets out a muffled groan against your lips but kisses you back, quickly turning it into a deep kiss that makes your nerve endings light on fire.

“Oh good,” Dean pants, “There was a 50% chance you were gonna punch me.” He smiles at you, a dazzling smile, before he leans in again, kissing you with an intensity that takes your breath away.

Your hands start roaming, and it isn’t long before you’re practically in his lap, your hands running over the muscles of his chest as he holds you steady by your hips, occasionally urging you to undulate against him.

“Let me make you feel good.” He moans into your ear, his hips bucking up underneath you.

“Dean,” you groan breathlessly, not even caring where you are, or that Sam could come looking for you any second now.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he urges, “be quiet for me and I’ll make you feel good, I promise, it’ll be so good for you–” he cuts himself off on a choked off moan as you grind down on him. “That’s it.”

“Dean, please–” You whisper, your lips finding his neck. “Please, I need–”

“Take what you need, baby.” Dean rasps, his voice dark and deep, sending shivers up your spine. “That feels so good, doesn’t it?” He asks, and you nod frantically against him. “Keep going, kid. I wanna see you come apart.” He’s almost slurring his words now, and you struggle not to cry out as he lifts his hips _just right_ , the friction almost too much combined with his voice.

“I’m almost there, Dean, I just– god, you’re so good, I’ve imagined–” you stop, groaning as his lips suck a mark into the hollow of your throat.

“Tell me,” he says, practically begging. “Tell me.”

“I’ve always imagined this. You and me.” You sigh as he kisses you, hard but brief. “I pictured us in your car, in the bunker, anywhere we could get a minute alone.”

“God, yes.”

You’re grinding against him hard now, and he’s going the same, both of you panting into each other’s mouths. “Pictured us against your bedroom door because we couldn’t wait long enough to get to the bed.”

“God, kid, if I woulda known, I–” he groans then, pulling you down on him hard.

That’s all it takes for you to see stars, and you come apart against him, feeling him shudder as he kisses you.

“Is that old lady in the motel office watching?” He asks, his voice light. “She has a thing for me.”

You smack his chest and move to get off him, but he doesn’t let you. “Ah, ah. I thought you said something about the backseat of my car.”

“You’re the worst.”

“I fought a witch for you!”

“You complained the entire time!” You say, laughing.

Dean stops your laughter with a kiss. “Can’t get rid of me now. Witch or no witch.

"So romantic.” You reply, fluttering your lashes.

He shrugs. “It’s a gift. Now, come on.” He grabs your hand and lifts you up, pulling you with him into the Impala. “Tell me more about how you pictured this.”


End file.
